


Reparations

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Collars, Dubious Consent, F/M, Femdom, Humiliation, Oral Sex, Pegging, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28578360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: Bhelen is King. His sister survived an Archdemon and was named Paragon. He should have expected she'd want some form of apology for the small matter of his betrayal.
Relationships: Bhelen Aeducan/Female Aeducan
Kudos: 4





	Reparations

Bhelen stares at the Mabari currently lying across the doorway and huffs out a long breath. He is the King of Orzammar, Commander of the armies, First of House Aeducan, and now he feels like nothing more than an errant child being summoned by their elder. 

A note from Paragon Aeducan, delivered in the Throne room by a wide eyed youngling was not something he could ignore for too long. Putting it off till the evening was as long as he could manage unless he wanted rumours that he’s snubbing the Paragon to start circulating.

At least it had given him an excuse to clear the throne room of people on time for once. He’d only stopped to change into something a little less ornate before letting his feet carry him to his sister’s quarters. 

The lack of guards doesn’t surprise him; she hated them even when she was young. And besides, the dog is big enough to tear out the throat of a darkspawn - that’d give even the most hardy dwarf pause. It watches him as he steps closer but doesn’t raise it’s head from it’s paws, letting him rap on the door.

He enters at her call, ducking through the brightly coloured tapestries that are hanging around the room, separating the space up into smaller areas. It’s a strange thing to do, but they’re her rooms to do with as she wishes. She crooks her fingers at him when he pushes aside the last one and he dutifully takes the last few strides to stand in front of her. She stares at him, letting her eyes pass up and down his body.

“I do have other things to be doing, you know,” he informs her after a long moment has passed.

“Not tonight, you don’t.” A sly smirk settles on her face. “Strip.”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me. Or shall I call the guard in to give you a hand if it’s beyond your capabilities?”

She grins at how fast his surprise switches to a not hidden quickly enough horror. After all, they would take her orders over his: a Paragon’s word against a King’s.

“Sereda,” he tries.

She raises a hand. “You tried to kill me. You know how reparations work. We can settle this here or I can take you into the Proving Arena.”

He strips.

“That’s what I thought.” 

He has to grit his teeth when she motions him closer, her eyes looking him over. He’s feeling far too vulnerable, the urge to grab his tunic and cover himself back up only tempered by the fact that he knows he cannot hope to beat her in a Proving and he can’t afford to lose face this soon into his reign. A defeat at the hands of a Paragon would likely have the Assembly calling for a new vote after casting him out. And worse, she knows that too.

He’s expecting her to pull out a whip or something equally as sinister, not for one eyebrow to delicately raise and a finger to point imperiously towards her feet until he lowers himself to his knees. She motions him to bend down a little and he bows his head with a tightening of his hands into fists. Weight settles round his neck and he raises both hands to pull at it. She doesn’t stop him from tugging it away and he blinks at what he would guess was once a collar for the dog, now a fair bit smaller, the modifications done in her own neat stitching.

“I'm sure even you can learn how to be a good boy.” 

She smiles sweetly as she plucks it from his hands and puts it round his neck again, sliding the buckle closed. It’s not uncomfortable, is his first thought, just a band of soft leather with a ring at the front and a leash made from a fine mesh weave that doesn’t stretch when he gives it a tug to see how sturdy it is. The collar itself is wide enough that he thinks he could actually resist a fair bit of tension without hurting himself.

It's more what it symbolises that has him growling internally. He's not a pet to dance to anyone's tune. Especially not hers... Except if he wants to keep his throne he will tonight. He’s managed to work his way up from lowly favoured son to the position of King, he can play her game.

She wiggles out of her breeches without bothering to get up from the chair and tugs at the chain wrapped loosely in one hand. The metal jingles as he shuffles closer. He doesn’t need to be told what she wants when a hand settles on his head. 

He ignores the sensation of his hair being pulled; normally he’d have words with anyone for daring to try and direct him. The King does not submit to anyone. Current position clearly being the exception. The only living Paragon purrs as he swipes his tongue over her folds and he has a rueful moment to realise that he’s in a position half the Noble Houses have been trying to get into for the past few days and failing spectacularly.

He knows what he's doing here at least, and he's good at it. At least, he's never had any complaints. She doesn't as he wraps one arm around her waist, his other joining his mouth.

It's an easy thing to listen to the sounds she's making and repeat what gets the most noise from her.

The hand in his hair tightens, the walls of her passage clenching on his fingers. He has to imagine how she looks, head probably thrown back, chest heaving. By the time she’s released his hair enough that he can tilt his head up to look at her she’s calmed and is staring down at him. 

“You’ve either had practice at that or you learn quickly,” she says and he allows himself a smirk, not answering one way or the other as he slowly cleans his fingers off, turning it into as much of a show as he can. 

She watches him with a smile before pushing herself up. “Come Bhelen.”

He scrambles to follow her before he's dragged along. She doesn’t go far, ducking through a tapestry depicting what he thinks might be a sunset, though he can’t fathom why they’ve done the sky in red when all his books say it’s blue.

“Get up on the bed.” 

He puts all thoughts of surface peculiarities out of his mind and scrambles up.

“On your hands and knees,” she clarifies before he can ask. The leash is casually thrown over the headboard.

“Sereda,” he says, hating the faint note of concern he can hear in his own voice as he twists his head round to stare at the items she’s gathering and piling behind him.

“Yes Bhelen,” she replies, giving him a smile that’s all amusement as she joins him on the bed.

It’s not hard to work out what she’s planning, it is a lot harder to not fling himself off the bed and head for the door as fast as his feet can take him, and sod the lack of clothing. Her hand is warm as it runs down his back, over his ass before curling round to ghost over his balls. He can’t suppress the twitch of his hips at the brief contact. 

“Have you done this before?”

He shakes his head in a quick negative. His preference definitely lies with women and none of them would have even dared suggest this.

“No matter,” she says, “I’ll just have to take my time.” 

That’s not as reassuring as she probably thinks it is.

He knows he needs to relax, yet that’s a lot harder to do when he’s ass up on a bed, than he has thought it must be; not that he’s given such a thing more than a passing thought. He lets her push down on his shoulders, till he can put his head down on his arms. He expects, well, he’s not sure entirely. 

A warm hand round his cock isn’t it and he jumps. She doesn’t seem to mind, letting him rock into her hand. It’s a loose grasp, not tight enough for him to really gain any real friction, not with what he suspects is oil on her hands, but enough that his body knows he wants more.

Her other hand circling his entrance makes him hiss until she clicks softly at him, a disapproving noise that has him stilling and turning to peer back over his shoulder.

“Relax, I want satisfaction not revenge. Pain won’t teach you anything. I want you to remember this and know you gave yourself to me.”

She’s got him there. It was his choice to frame her instead of killing her. Now she’s showing him the same sort of mercy. It’s his choice to choose this over getting himself killed by the cut throat Assembly when they see his weakness proven in the Arena. He can take what she throws at him. He rests his head back down, wiggling his ass a little. As much of a dare as he can give.

The feeling is strange. He can feel her finger, then another and it’s not painful... Just uncomfortable? There’s not really a word that describes it well. She trails fingers over his cock again, moving down to fondle his balls, distracting him, quite successfully too, from the slow addition of another finger. That one does burn as he slowly adjusts and he’s starting to wonder why anyone would bother doing this when she does something that makes him gasp, hips pushing back towards her before he can stop himself. She just laughs, curling her fingers to do it again. His whimper sounds louder than it likely is before he buries his face into the furs, he can feel himself getting closer to cumming than he thought he could from this and he’s not going to give her the satisfaction of hearing the sounds she’s managing to get out of him.

It’s a disappointment when she stops and he lifts his head enough to make an inquiring sound. He can hear her grabbing something from the end of the bed, the sound of a cork popping, more oil possibly? He takes the moment to shift his hand to stroke himself, a pleased whine escaping as he gets a good grip, none of the teasing she’s been doing.

“Hands off.”

The command is coupled with a slap at his hand, close enough to his balls that he feels the air move against them. He doesn’t want to think about how much that would have stung.

“Do not touch without permission.” 

He nods, very firmly making a show of placing his hand back by his head and curling his fingers into the fur. It was worth a try.

The next touch at his entrance is cold and far harder than her fingers. He gulps, trying to stay relaxed as the only sound he can hear is his own harsh panting. It’s bigger than her fingers, he can tell that much, as she slowly fucks him with it, letting it sink a little deeper each time until it starts hitting the same spot she found with her fingers. He rocks back a little, hissing at the stretch that’s burning and the delicious shock of heat that seems to go straight to his groin. Then it abruptly stops, and he clenches around what he thinks is some form of stone. “Shhhhh.” She says, one hand rubbing circles across his back. “Sit up. Slowly.” She adds the second bit before he can move and he eases himself up till he’s kneeling on the bed. 

“Fuck.” He breathes out. “You trying to kill me?”

“I’ve got bigger ones,” she says with a smirk, reaching underneath him to twist what he assumes is some kind of plug; whatever it is, it has him gasping again as it shifts. 

His eyes widen at the thought of being able to even fit anything bigger as she speaks again. “Well, I’ve worked up an appetite doing that, why don’t you pop over to the kitchens and grab something easy to eat for me.” He whirls round forgetting her advice, yelping as the movement sends a flash of pain/pleasure/heat through him. She isn’t sodding serious.

“I’d recommend clothing unless you want the whole Palace to get a good eyeful,” she adds as she reaches up to unbuckle the collar. Nope, he knows that look. She is entirely serious.

“I can’t go out like this,” he protests, taking his time to shuffle to the edge of the bed and stand up, biting his lip at the continued stimulation. 

One of his hands sneaks round to touch the smooth stone to find out just how large it actually is before she bats at his hand in a silent order to leave it alone.

“Can’t? Or won’t?” Her eyes narrow. “Go get it, little brother.”

Fine, fine. At least the sodding thing is discreet. Though this is going to be the longest walk to the kitchen and back he’s ever taken. Every step makes the plug move and it’s wide enough if he takes his usual sized strides it sends a delicious burst of heat through him. Lovely, if that didn’t make his knees want to buckle and a moan to escape him every time. He studiously ignores her as he pulls his breeches back on and grits his teeth at how tight they feel. He leaves his tunic loose instead of putting his belt on, trying to hide the rather obvious bulge in the front of his breeches and carefully makes for the door.

“Don’t take too long,” she calls after him with a chuckle. He lets the door close with a loud thud - it’s as close to slamming it as he dares to do and then he nearly falls over the sodding dog. He has to put a hand on the wall and take a couple of deep breaths. He really has to remember that sudden movements are bad right now. He swears the beast gives him an amused look before putting it’s head back down.

Dwarva, thankfully, seem to be less observant than the dog as none of them give him a second glance as he makes his slow but steady way to the kitchen and slips inside. He braces himself on the wall once he’s through the door and out of sight of lingering Nobles and takes a deep breath. Sereda is a cruel, cruel woman.

“M’Lord?” The voice is far too close, “can I help you M’Lord?” The cook gives him another glance, looking up through her hair. “Are you quite alright M’Lord?”

“Fine. Just looking for a quick snack,” he says, aiming for as nonchalant a tone as he can. 

It doesn’t quite work, possibly a little higher than it should, and a quaver on the last word. The cook gives him a brief look as if she doesn’t believe him and wants to say something before she nods and goes to fetch a plate.

“Not a word,” he orders as he takes the plate.

Ancestors bless the Caste system.

He’s very nearly back to her room and the dubious safety Sereda currently represents when somebody calls his name. He debates ignoring them, but he is well aware that speeding up isn’t really an option he wants to take right now. He looks back, hopefully with none of his resignation visible, to see his Second striding down the corridor. 

“How are things going?” Vartag asks.

Bhelen lets the plate drop just a touch before he turns round, better to try and hide his current state. “Good. We’re, ah, talking things through.”

“She’s not planning to take strips out of your hide in the Arena then?”

“No.” 

If he keeps his answers short his Second might get the hint that he’s not in the mood to chat.

“Well then, I’ll leave you to enjoy your… talk.” Vartag claps him lightly on the back, mindful of the plate of food, then winks and strides off.

Bhelen lets out a long breath.

Sereda’s rooms have never felt as welcoming as they do when he lets the door close behind him. “Fucking ancestors stone tits!” He says with a heartfelt groan. He’s sure he’s bright red and stone take it all, he's still rock hard. Her laughter echoes round the room as he ducks through the tapestries. He mutely holds the plate out when he finds her back in the chair by the fire as proof that he has indeed been and done what he was ordered to.

She actually looks impressed as she takes it, inspecting what he was given with a happy smile. It is entirely coincidental that the cook chose some of her favourite snacks and not his. At least he thinks it’s a coincidence, he remembers having the same thing earlier, so these are likely just the ones that were left over. 

“Clothing,” she reminds him when he starts to follow her gesture to the floor and he quickly strips again.

He’s still hard, strangely so, and he has to grip his thighs as he settles to stop his hands wandering. Sereda seems delighted as she puts the collar back on him. 

“You enjoyed that didn’t you? Knowing that anyone out there could work out what is going on.”

He huffs, feeling his cheeks flush again.

“Vartag did,” he mutters sullenly.

His Second will be teasing him about this for weeks, he just knows it. He can’t deny that the thought that any of the others could have also worked it out is… He doesn’t know. Humiliating? Embarrassing? And certainly not making his heart race and his cock twitch. 

She raises an eyebrow, slowly finishing the treat she’s eating before a wicked smirk appears on her face. “What would you do if I took you out there like this, on a leash? Let everyone see how their King serves their Paragon?”

His breath hitches. She wouldn’t. Would she?

“I.” He clears his throat. “I would prefer you not to.” That would be barely a step above getting beaten into the sand of the Arena.

“Why?” she asks, leaning down till he can feel her breath on one shoulder and stirring the hair near his ear. “Because you’d enjoy it?”

He swallows. He’s not going to answer that because Ancestors take him, his body likes the idea even if his rational mind really doesn’t. She sits back, satisfaction clear, a non answer clearly good enough for her. She scoops up another treat and holds it out. He takes it as gently as he can, ignoring the treacherous thoughts that are suggesting he’s actually enjoying himself. He gets more creative with the next few, letting his tongue curl round her fingers as he takes what she's offering him.

She looks sadly at the tray when it’s empty, giving him a pat on the head.

“Stay.”

He huffs. He’s not a fucking Mabari. That was exactly the same command and move he’s seen her use on the sodding beast outside. He stays, watching as she puts the tray on a side table before coming to scoop up the chain.

"Be a good boy and we’ll stay in here."

He doesn’t fight the soft tug as she steps away, the leash held loosely in one of her hands. If she does try to take him out the door however, he won’t follow so meekly.

Once round the room has him breathing heavily. Despite most of the floor being covered in furs it’s not easy on the knees. He’s trying to stay focused on that small pain, a distraction from the feeling deep inside his ass with every movement that’s making his arms and legs wobble, in the way his body is telling him means he should grab her and sink into her and consequences be blighted. He’s aching in a way he never has before.

“Good boy.”

He leans into her hand before he’s realised what he’s doing, her hand trailing through his braids in a soft petting motion.

“You want to come don’t you?”

He knows she expects him to play along, he just wasn’t expecting to like it. Wasn’t expecting the way he has to lick his lips to answer. The way his voice is excited when he was expecting resignation to his fate.

“Yes.”

She was right that he’ll remember this for a lot longer than any sort of pain.

“Please?” he adds.

“Stand up and brace yourself over the bed.”

The leash is thrown carelessly over an end post as soon as he’s on his feet, and she nudges the inside of his ankles till he widens his stance. He hisses as it traps his erection and he has to resist the urge to fuck into the bedding. There’s a sharp pain as she draws the plug out and he whines, not sure if it’s meant as a protest against the burn or an objection about the sudden lack of being filled. A little warning would have been nice there.

“Eyes forward,” she says when he wonders what she’s doing. He obediently turns his head back, shifting his hips when he feels something cold at his entrance, pressing back a little before catching himself. She chuckles, one arm wrapping around his stomach and drawing him up until they’re pressed together and he’s filled again. He shouldn’t be so happy about that fact.

“Sereda,” he says as she pushes him forwards again till her weight is resting on him, skin warm where they’re touching.

“Mmmmm?” she says, twitching her hips.

He forgets whatever he was going to say. His breath hitches as she pulls away, a startled breath as she pushes forwards again and heat pools in his belly.

“You’ve done this before.”

It wasn’t what he was going to ask, but it seems like an important question.

"Of course."

Another roll and thrust of her hips and he whines, pressing back impatiently.

She laughs. "Oh look at you," she hums softly, while he tries not to give in to making more of the sounds that made her so amused. "Would you beg like a whore to cum Bhelen?"

There's no right answer there. He knows that. Even with only half his mind functioning he can see the trap. Disagree and she'll see it as a challenge, agree and she'll be delighted. He smirks as he finds a way out.

"If you want me to?"

She laughs again, he's starting to realise how much he's missed her. "Still got that silver tongue I see. Well, I very much do want you to."

"Sister, for the love of the Ancestors, would you stop teasing and put some effort into this?"

There's a muffled snort from her, "not what I meant, brother dear. But I suppose it'll do." She punctuates that with a thrust that rocks him forwards.

"Fuck." He grits out as he braces himself as best he can. It's not much help each thrust pushing him into the furs until he can't hope to keep up with her. "Fuck, 'Reda. _Please_."

He cums to the sound of her laughter and a hand on the back of his neck, pressing his head down as he spills into the furs.

"Good boy."

He can hear the smirk in her voice as she stands, pulling out slowly until he's alone on the bed. He waits, unsure if she wants him to move or not. Although he'd be quite happy to stay here, he's more relaxed than he can remember being after a good coupling.

She leans over, unbuckling the collar before patting him on the ass. "Consider reparations made, your Majesty."

He pushes himself up, forcing himself to meet her eyes which are full of mirth and satisfaction. "Thank you, Paragon."

She waves him away and her laughter follows him to his clothes. He dresses quickly, trying not to wince at how tender he feels. She was right, he will certainly remember this for longer than anything else. And he has no doubt he's going to remember it very well during court tomorrow, conveniently when she will be attending.

He has to hand it to her, she's finally learnt to play the game.


End file.
